


Infatuation

by binaryStars



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, Infatuation, Other, Who is it? Who knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-07-11 13:04:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7052977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binaryStars/pseuds/binaryStars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which someone who has no freaking idea how to process emotions, does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A slow, spiraling descent through the eternal mess of chaos, which was both deriving from and being stopped by the glowing figure amongst the madness. The gentle but firm touch on his hand made him forget what reality actually meant, whether or not he was real, made him forget the difference between what is moral and immoral, and made his head spin, and put a pressure on his chest. He felt a pressure on his shoulders from the stress of how to act, as it shouldn't be different, but there should be differences, and it made it hard to breathe. Maybe it was the chest binder, maybe not, but who could tell? Gentle fingers pulled his face into the crook of the other's neck, and he almost stopped breathing, for fear of doing something wrong, though at the same time knowing that he couldn't do anything wrong. He thought about pressing a gentle kiss, there, as had been done to him, and he knew that it would be fine, too, but something inside of him told him to move slower; that he was just anxious, and moving too quickly because of it. He found himself replying in quips and his usual amounts of sarcasm despite the situation, and he didn't know why, as this sort of connection was something he'd always wanted, but he was the one preventing this moment from meaning anything. Well, not entirely true; this moment would stick with him for the longest time, but he couldn't be doing anything but ruining it for his partner.

The other cars on the highway would zip by, and he watched them, too flushed embarrassed to look back at his partner, whose glowing eyes, he knew, would captivate him only for a short moment, but even that was a moment too long. Not that his partner would be able to see through the dark as he could, anyways, but just to be certain, absolutely certain, he looked anywhere but where he was supposed to. They turned onto the road before the street he lived on, but he couldn't even remember how to pay attention to his partner's words anymore; they mixed and jumbled in his poor, sappy brain, and he kept his lips sealed tightly so as not to rant an outburst that would destroy the moment, and instead took to tapping his fingers against his leg to calm himself down. He attempted a long breath in without his chest rising too far to arouse suspicion, and he, thankfully, got the air he needed into his lungs without question or comment.

"Oh, we're here," his partner remarked, as they turned down the semi-lit street. Perhaps not at his house, yet, but they would be there, soon enough.

"Which house is it?" his driver asked, slowing down just before the hill.

"The one with the lanterns," he responded, just at the right time to pull into the driveway.

He and his partner left the car as soon as it stopped, him tripping over his legs, which he realized only then were numb, but accepted no help in bounding up and out of the car, and allowed himself to be walked to the door, where the light from his mudroom gave his partner's eyes a compassionate glint, and he couldn't help but wonder what he himself looked like in the light. His partner pulled him into an embrace, and pushed his chin up, once again, but to brush against skin. He contemplated, again, leaving a small kiss there, something for his partner to remember this night by, but couldn't bring his lips to move the way he wanted to, and instead pulled away, embarrassed, and muttered a quick, "Goodbye" before hurrying to the familiar comfort of his home, looking back through the windows in his door to watch his partner climb safely back into the car, and drive away He breathed a relieved sigh, but relieved for what? He was alone, once more.

He crept into his house quietly, hoping not to disturb those sleeping, and found himself sitting on his library room's couch, contemplating everything that had happened that night, and trying to find a word for this burning-freezing-painful-soothing feeling he had, but only "love" came to mind. It was an understatement, really, he thought, the longer he sat there, in the dark, surrounded by books and a television screen more powerful than he would ever be. He considered turning it on, but turning it on would turn off his thoughts, and he just needed to think. He thought that words would always come naturally to him, as they always had before, but he struggled to think straight when the only thing he could think about were his partner's warm hands and arms and body wrapped around him and only him, and thinking about how such gestures of affection would be demonstrated to him and only to him, and how honestly lucky he was to have the perfect person just for him. He thought about how his previous romantic interest had been flawless beyond belief, and beyond words, to him, and how this one was perfectly imperfect; he adored his current partner entirely, flaws and chinks and quirks and all.

He stood up suddenly, startling his two cats who had joined him in thought on the other end of the couch, and made his way swiftly to the room that now contained nothing but his piano. Despite there being other people trying to sleep in the house, he hit the button at the far right and it turned on with a _click_. He pulled out his phone and searched for chords to a song he hadn't heard or thought about in years, but still remembered the melody to, turned down the volume on the electronic instrument, and sang the song softly, accompanying himself with a piano instrumental equally soft and beautiful. Of course he couldn't get the played melody of the solo between the first and second verses on the first try, so he skipped any sort of break and continued singing so gently, so full of emotion, in a way that he didn't realize he had, and in a way he'd likely never have again. A gentleness that mimicked the way he wanted to love his partner, and he smiled to himself, through the lyrics. This is what he needed.

" _When violet eyes are brighter, And heavy wings grow lighter, I'll taste the sky and feel alive again,_ " he sang. The chord progression had changed slightly, and he could feel his emotion struggling to push his voice past the sound of sound, and he tried to stifle this ever-growing feeling inside of him, as it would cause him to sing louder and risk awakening the others in his house. " _And I'll forget the world that I knew, But I swear that I won't forget you, Oh, if my voice could reach back through the past, I'd whisper in your ear..._ " He stopped playing for the last line, and it came out in a whisper so quiet he could hardly hear it himself, "Oh, darling, I wish you were here."

He closed his eyes for a moment after he let his note fade out, and tried to picture best he could the song and himself, and found it too easy. He pulled the cover over the piano keys without bothering to turn off the device, and turned out all of the lights on the first floor, gazing out of the window light filtered through a whole half hour ago to illuminate his romantic partner a moment before flicking the light switch down. He passed through the kitchen, and turned out the light from the switch closest to the hallway, then turned down it. At the bottom of the stairs, there was the entrance to the library room, and right inside, the switch. Without looking into the room, he hit it, and then hit the switch at the bottom of the stairs that would turn off the light in the hall on the first floor. He climbed the stairs in utter darkness, then made a sharp turn to the right and entered his bedroom. He promptly threw himself onto his bed, and within minutes, fell asleep, but his dream was lucid enough for his thought process to continue throughout the otherwise calmness and peace known as sleep, and found, as he rested, the only word he could use to describe his emotions was _infatuated_.


	2. Answer

Just scrolling, scrolling, scrolling, eyes scanning pictures that are neither very funny nor very pleasing to look at, reading things that are neither informative nor entertaining, just filling time. How do I have the time for this when I have so many things to do? Why don't I have enough time to do anything else, but I have time for this?

It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter.

It does to you, though.

I don't know how you have the ability to so kindly, so genuinely care about things. 

Sometimes my eyes will water because all of the connections I make as soon as I read the words you send me. It means so much, I feel so much for you, towards you, but things like that are things I simply can't say, that I refuse to say, and why? Mostly because of everyone else I've ever broken, ever harmed, and even though they don't look or seem it, I still know that I've rushed, rushed, rushed, and still fell so far behind.

It's so strange to think that there is someone out there that listens, reads, cares about what I have to say. Such a foreign feeling it is to be listened to without needing to debate my thoughts and feelings, as though there are reasons or explanations for either, and as though they matter at all. It's strange to feel wanted, loved, accepted, and for what I realize is the first time, I do. Floating higher and higher, and looking down on my madness from above, I can't help but think: _Is this normalcy? Is this how it feels, how it looks? What is normalcy? Can it be defined by someone else's words, thoughts, actions, nature? Or is it you, who is normalcy to me? An idol of health that could be, of strength I'll never know, of perhaps a story I could never write?_

Planets aligned perfectly to create you, nearly a month before I, and it's wonderful to think that they were in such positions at a time so near they were to mine, who were placed erratically, randomly, generating yet another human; yours seem perfectly tuned, so celestially impossible that I could not ever dream of it myself, even if I tried. I've felt this before, too-- this feeling of a god being sent from the skies so far above, and I feel honored that twice, now, including you, have bothered to spare a glance, to turn your gaze towards me, to make me feel as though I am one of you. It's why I preach of you so readily, so wholeheartedly, because stars don't care about human beings, about people, but you seem to. And if you don't, I will not be able to bring myself to feel angry with you, and all I'll feel is like a fool, for ever thinking someone would care without question of my thoughts.


End file.
